Sudden Death of A Master Taster (Mourning for My Dog)
My Dog, Dallas, Defined My Life And I Wouldn’t Change It For Anything.
For 14 years 5 months and 21 days, everyday of our shared lives we breathe in unison of what each day would be like. Dallas gave me contentment of love and stability. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Dallas and I had adventures together to places we both never knew then. Places we loved or fled. We disagreed on a lot of issues. We worked them out because we saw our points of view or simply thought the other so stupid. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Dallas told me on many occasions I was doing the wrong thing…. nagged me for closing the car window too soon, scolded me when I reduced her meal portions, berat
ed me for mistakenly applied tea tree oil for kefir as toothpaste. Yet, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Dallas knew when I get confused on unfamiliar trails, and she would lead me back to the car. She found and pointed that a sweater hanging from a tree on that familiar trail was mine. She helped dug a large planter voluntarily. I never would change a thing.
Dallas obsessed with fishing would stay for hours in the water. The first chum salmon she caught in Kodiak she offered it to me. We fished for more and she patiently w
aited while I cook her dinner. I never would change these things.
Dallas gave me hell the first two years of adolescence. Pulled her leash on walks, ignored my calls, chewed most of her leashes, quarreled with other dogs. I would have changed some things.
Dallas continued to show her independent spirit and street smarts throughout her years. I wouldn’t ever want a human child for she displayed behaviors I had. Stubbornness for one. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.
Around 7 the morning on Sunday of February 28th, 2021, I saw her on that surgery table, opened up and unconscious. The doctor confirmed that she wouldn’t have made it with the tumors in her spleen and part of the liver with tumor bleeding out. Stroking her face while disbelieving what just happened was never detected before. I would want to change these things.
Oh how I long to bring her home! Oh how I long to hold her tight and how I could keep her body to maintain her presence so I won’t get lost. But I would have to settle for ashes. I would want to change these things.
One last visit that Sunday afternoon. She lied in repose, permanent
ly asleep, but soft as ever. I told her no more snowballs in her front paws.
My puppy, my baby girl, like I promise always, I’ll be back for you. I never would change you for anything.
4 Comments
Hello Daisy, After I placed my first order with you this morning, I began reading through your website and came across your exquisitely expressed narrative on the life and loss of your most beloved companion Dallas. So many thoughts came rushing to my mind as you described in such poignant and intimate details both the height of elation and the depth of despair that you’ve experienced with her. It struck me that there was something quite serendipitous that I happened to discover your site ….
Nine months ago, I too lost one with whom I was unusually bonded at the hip and soul level - my Eliza Doolittle defined me, taught me, and guided me through the past twelve years. As a giant breed (a Scottish Deerhound) to have reached 12 years was a gift - being a big age for a big dog. Just as your Dallas reached a remarkable senior age, for which we are profoundly grateful, we might say as Miss Piggy has, “too much is never enough”. Are we ever really ready to say goodbye to their physical presence, even though we will continue to forever experience their spiritual life within us?
My Eliza so very much loved her salmon fillet treats, which I would always have at the ready for her. It took me these past nine months to now be putting my foot in the waters again as I’ve adopted Phoebe, a dog with whom to embark on whatever lies ahead for us together. So it is, I went to my customary sources for those salmon fillet treats, only to find that they were discontinued. But in my hard-headed persistent ways, I went searching to find what might still be available somewhere somehow …. fortunately to have discovered you.
I’m a semi-retired Veterinary Social Worker who for many years counseled clients through their dark times of crisis, illness, and loss.
But doing so for others has not spared me my own painful struggle toward healing…. I do however know that it will evolve for me as I am hoping for you. In that light, I would like to share with you what I often refer to: “Safe Passage” by Molly Fumia — a selection of which I’ve copied below. Wishing you well being, Jane
“Where are you? I have been searching for your continuation in a space that seems finished. I have wanted to believe you still exist somewhere else, somewhere separate, but near to me… I need only to look inside. I will find you there, bright and whole, shining steady at the end of a silver thread of love that will connect us forever to the most powerful truth that has ever been or will be.”
Daisy, I am so sorry to hear of your loss. They are never here with us long enough. I totally understand how you feel!
Your love for your precious Dallas is an inspiration. Hold her forever in your heart, you will be together again.
I am so sorry for your loss. Dallas was a great dog. I know she is in a place where she isn’t in pain, where dog treats hang from trees and the sun always shines. Be safe and be well. May Dallas’s memory be a blessing.